


Wriscutters: A Daria story (Revamp)

by Charliefox2012 (KurtofskyoverKlaine)



Category: Daria (Cartoon), Wristcutters: A Love Story (2006)
Genre: Adventure, Depression, Disappointment, F/F, F/M, Long car journey, Longing, Lots of alcohol, Love, Morbid, Out of Character, Pizza purgatory, Purgatory, Suicide all around, Thoughts of second suicide, obviously, revamp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KurtofskyoverKlaine/pseuds/Charliefox2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story based on the movie Wristcutters: a love story.<br/>Jane: You know you’re going to hell.<br/>Daria: Anything that gets me out of Lawndale -- A tree grows in Lawndale. </p>
<p>Daria got out of Lawndale…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this a revamped version of this story. Original is at ff.net and the PPMB under same penname (Please don't look it up, unless you are impatient). The plot is the same, but the chapters are heavily edited and fleshed out.

When consciousness greeted her, Daria didn’t open her eyes immediately. With what she could assess though simply feeling -- the ground being uncomfortably hot and hard, a dry wind blowing around her, and the much too bright sun overhead -- something told her she would not like what she saw.

It was evident that she was outside, but she noticed that these elements weren't usual for Lawndale. So, _obviously_ , she wasn't in Lawndale.

_Then where am I?_

Daria shifted her body and groaned lightly. Her body felt sore, as if she had been lying on this hot and hard ground for some time. She also felt extremely exhausted, but couldn’t pinpoint why.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes. Somehow, opening her eyes and confirming that she wasn’t in Lawndale frightened her a bit. Even if she stated before that _anywhere_ would have been better than Lawndale, this place didn’t give off the feeling that it was 'better' than Lawndale.

_So,_ where _am I? Where was I_ before _this? More importantly,_ how _did I end up here?_

The sound of gravel crunching under boots interrupted her troubling thoughts. The footsteps stopped next to her and a gruff, male voice then said, loudly, “Hey.”

Daria continued to feign unconsciousness. She just wanted to be left alone. At least until she felt like figuring out things. However, the man didn’t take the hint, and continued to bother her, “Hey, get up. You cannot sleep here.” His accent was thick, and she placed it to be either Armenian or Russian.

Daria still didn’t move. Why couldn’t this man just leave her alone?

The man then nudged her boot sharply. “Get up,” he urged.

Daria groaned loudly in complaint and finally opened her eyes. She sent the man a brief glare before sitting up. He simply looked at her unperturbed.

The man was heavy-set, hairy, and tough-looking, but didn't seem unkind. He appeared to be in his early fifties, and most likely a cook, with his clothing color scheme choice -- white button-up shirt, white pants, white shoes -- and the dingy apron wrapped around his waist.

Daria took a moment to straighten her glasses and take in her surroundings. She frowned. She was right, she wasn’t in Lawndale.

All around was sand, dead weeds, dead bushes, and a deserted highway that seemed to go on forever to the left and to the right.

_Desert_ , Daria acknowledged. That didn’t help, though. She still had no idea where she was.

The man held his hand out to her. “Here, get up.”

Daria didn’t take his hand, standing up by herself to prove to him, and herself, that she was okay; even though, she felt far from it.

"Where am I?” she asked, surprised at how calm her voice was considering the circumstances.

The man looked around and then stretched out his arms, slowly turning in a small circle, gesturing to the surroundings. “You. Are. _Here_ ,” he said, his tone a little amused, a little sad.

Daria looked at him dryly. “Well, that helps,” she remarked sardonically. “At least I can conclude, without a doubt, that I am _not_ at the mall.”

“Mall?” he asked curiously.

Daria shook her head dismissingly, but stopped quickly and grimaced at the pain of a headache beginning. “I don’t know…. I don’t know how I got here,” she explained as she brushed dirt off herself as best she could.

The man nodded, like he already knew that she’d say that. He then silently, intensely scrutinized her. Daria felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, but she needed answers, and, well, he was the only one around.

"Ah-ha!” he exclaimed suddenly, grabbing both her arms at the elbows.

Daria jumped, startled, trying to pull her arms out of his strong grasp. “Hey!?” she snapped irritated.

“ _This_ is how you get here,” he declared, his hands sliding down her arms and resting on her wrists.

Daria looked at him confused, “Huh?”

“Under sleeves of jacket; it’s how you come here,” the man insisted, letting her go and then put his right hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I’m guessing,” he added, somewhat unsurely. “Could be a Hanger, but, see, no bruise,” he said, gesturing at her neck. “No. I see you as a Bleeder,” he finished casually.

Daria just stared at the man incredulously, wondering if she should put some distance between him and her. Some very *vast* distance. But, just out of curiosity, she raised her left sleeve and gasped.

“There! I knew it,” he said neither proud nor gloating, but with a deep sympathy.

Daria studied her left arm in horror. There were two deep gashes, one across an artery and one down the middle of her arm. Next, she looked at her right arm and saw that it held the same two gashes.

“I don’t get it,” Daria said softly, tears welling suddenly.

The man sighed and explained, “You took Life. But you only end Life.” He gave a bitter chuckle. “Apparently, Unhappiness is forever.” He then offered his hand, “Mordy, by the way.”

She didn’t take his hand, too lost in thought as she tried to remember what she had been doing before waking up here. She found that she couldn't.

Mordy simply let his hand drop and looked her over. “You such a little thing,” he commented. “How old you?” 

Daria quickly wiped at her eyes, “Um, seventeen,” she answered.

Mordy nodded, “So young,” he murmured dolefully.

Daria only shrugged uncomfortably. “Okay. So, I know _how_ I got here -- sort of,” she said uncertainly. “But I don’t get _why_. Why am I here? I can’t…I can’t remember anything from before I woke here,” she said somewhat anxiously.

Mordy shrugged. “I don’t know either, but you will remember; it take time,” he promised, and added, pointedly, “And believe me, you have time.”

Daria nodded and took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what was happening to her. Suddenly, obscure memories arose: herself in her room, she was alone in the house, she was upset. Then only one thought resonated.

“Jane,” she breathed, but she was a bit foggy on how Jane factored into this whole mess.

Mordy looked at her concerned. “You gonna be all right?” he asked.

“How okay were _you_ when you figured out you were _dead_ ,” Daria scoffed and then looked unsure. “I am dead, right?”

“Yeah, you dead,” Mordy answered, and then shrugged indifferently. “And I deal. Nothing you can do about being dead. Why get upset?”

Daria sighed and nodded. “Right. Then I guess I’m going to be okay.” She looked around the area again, this time taking in detail.

Specifically, she was at the edge of a dirt parking lot. It had only a few cars parked in it. On the other side of the lot was what seemed to be a restaurant -- probably Mordy’s, if her guess of him being a cook was right. There were a few people hanging around in front of the restaurant and in the parking lot, but none of them looked her way. Further out, there were dilapidated, vacant or scarcely inhabited looking buildings.

_It could be considered a town. Sort of_ , Daria thought. She then looked at Mordy, unsurely, and asked, “So, what do I do now?” She cringed slightly at how much like a child she sounded.

“You come with me. I help you,” Mordy said resolutely, grasping her shoulder and pushing her towards the restaurant. Daria simply let him.

As she walked with Mordy, Daria wondered how to officially state this moment. Was she beginning her new life or entering her afterlife?

None of this made sense, but Daria reckoned, as Mordy had said, and with the way that he said it, she would have _lots_ of time to figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * = Italics.
> 
> Because ao3 won't import my work already edited and I don't not feel like going through it again just to add Italics. This will be done for the rest of the chapters. I may stop spacing as well, so text will be a wall. Sorry. It's annoying.  
> If you really need Italics and spacing, I'm also posting this to fanfiction dot net under ''The Revampire". Dot net uploads your chapter fully edited.

  
Daria removed the pizza from the large oven and placed it on a pizza holder that was on a prep table next to her. She sliced it carelessly and unevenly and then placed it in a box, ready for pick up.

She sighed heavily and wiped sweat from her brow. It was hot today, and the oven wasn't helping. Although, truthfully, it was *always* hot -- with or without the oven's help. She removed her headband depicting the *Kamikaze pizzeria* logo and pocketed it. This pizza would be her fifth-made today. So, she figured that should be enough work to have earned a break.

“Mordy!” Daria called into the back office.  
“Yeah?” Mordy called back.

“I’m going on my break,” she said.

“Sure. *Ten minutes. I mean it, Daria,” Mordy shouted sternly. “A minute over and I fire you,” he threatened.

Daria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed, knowing it was an empty threat. Some -- or if truthful *most* -- of her breaks had been going over ten minutes for weeks now. If Mordy truly meant it, she wouldn’t *still* be here *weeks* later.

She removed her apron, placing it on a counter, and headed outside.

A strong breeze engulfed her, and it *should* have been refreshing after being inside a building with no air-conditioning and working with a large oven all morning, but it wasn’t. All it did was mingle with the constant heat. There was *never* a cool breeze in this world. And the sun was unbearable as usual, bright and scorching. She raised a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes and quickly moved to stand under the awning to the left of the entrance. Not that it really helped. It was miserably hot and bright *wherever* you stood.

*It’s no better than being inside*, Daria thought bitterly; and not for the first time. But at least outside, she was away from the unhelpful oven. So, small mercy. *Very small*.

She leant against the building, dug into her pocket and pulled out her carton of cigarettes and box of matches. She raised a cigarette to her lips.

“I have *got* to get another job,” Daria grumbled around the cigarette. “I spent half my life eating pizza now I’m gonna spend *eternity* making it.” She lit the cigarette and took a long drag. She exhaled the smoke in a deep sigh, looking out at the parking lot; not many people were out today.

After a moment, Daria looked at her cigarette -- another ‘And not for the first time’. She wasn’t sure why she had started smoking. It didn’t alleviate any stress, but everyone around here seemed to smoke all the time. She wasn’t exactly trying to fit in, but it at least gave her something to do. That, and it wasn’t like it was gonna kill her.

She took another deep drag.

When Daria first started working at the pizza place, she thought there would be a plethora of people around. Figureing pizza had to be popular in this place, too, but that wasn't the case. No matter what time it was or the day, this place *never* got busy; no more then *maybe* fifteen customers a day.

Daria figured that the lack of customers was probably due to everyone having better things to do than eat, or maybe that they were too depressed to eat. It was most likely the depression. She knew that sometimes she went a few days without eating because she got depressed. That was when she discovered that lack of food and water didn’t kill you here. It just added to the pain and suffering, because, apparently, you could *still* feel bodily discomforts.

Daria sighed wearily. “This world *seriously* sucks,” she bemoaned.

It had been a couple of months since she *Arrived* here, and had been found by Mordy. Immediately, he had made it his mission to take care of her. He gave her a job at his pizzeria and found her a place to live.

She roomed with a big Austrian guy named Erik. Mordy said he had met Erik at the bar he usually went to, and that Erik was his great drinking buddy. Must be an *amazing* drinking buddy, actually, Daria had thought, because Erik -- albeit reluctantly -- took her in simply because Mordy asked. Erik was all right, if a little -- or, depending on the day, a lot -- anal, but Daria figured, by the looks of this world, it could be worse.

Daria took another drag from her cigarette, looking around. A couple of people were coming up to the restaurant. They saw her and gave a small wave. Daria simply nodded.  
But even though she had been oddly lucky to have been found by Mordy and given his help, it had still been hard adjusting to this place. And even when it seemed that she had adjusted, she just hated the place even more.

She gave a mirthless laugh, “*Who could’ve thought of a better punishment really*?” 

It was like being alive, but not. No one was really around, but the few that were, were usually depressed or screwed up in some way. The place was *always* hot, even at night. You still felt discomfort and unrest; you simply still *felt*. And you still had to work to buy things and to pay for a place to live, and you still paid bills.

But worst of all, was that you *remembered* Life. But not just the ‘why’ you are here bit. You remember *everything*; all the good and the bad -- the things that make you realize how good you had it. And how *stupid* you were, and are, for killing yourself; for putting yourself here, *willingly*.

Daria inhaled longer from her cigarette, letting the burn in her lungs distract her from the fierce, sick feeling of anger and regret that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn’t let herself indulge those feelings or she’d end up miserable for a week or two; she knew this from experience. A few seconds later, she released the smoke slowly, forcing herself back into the apathy she learned you *needed* if you wanted to survive here. And twistedly, she did.

Remembering her Life and the Reason for leaving it happened two weeks after her Arrival.

She and Jane had started dating, but after just four months, Jane ended the relationship. Daria had been completely surprised and deeply hurt by the break-up. She had thought they were doing well and that being together actually made things better; between them and just in general. Apparently, she had been wrong.

Jane’s reasoning for the break-up had been because she *needed* her freedom. Daria didn’t understand; she *felt* like she *wasn't* holding Jane back, that they were just adding a new facet to their relationship. However, Jane disagreed and was adamant that her freedom was needed. That it was best that they go back to just being friends. So, Daria gave in. Because she didn't have a choice, and Daria would rather have Jane as a friend than nothing at all.

It had taken a couple months for them to get back to normal. To be *just* best friends again and to act like the relationship had never even happened.

It had been the hardest two months of Daria’s life, but she endured.

And then *Tom* happened.

After only just meeting him and one date, Jane had decided to date him.

Daria had been absolutely baffled by that. She didn’t understand how, just two months prior, Jane had told her that she couldn’t be in a relationship with her because she *needed* her freedom, but then easily and quickly jump into a relationship with Tom.

Daria then began to think that it wasn’t *really* freedom Jane was after. That maybe Jane left her because something was *wrong* with *her*. That Jane just didn’t want to be in a *romantic* relationship with *her*. Daria had been devastated by that possibility.

And it didn’t help that while dealing with the hurt of her failed relationship with Jane, and Jane and Tom being together, Daria was working on that stupid multimedia project for Mr. O’Neill’s class by herself. She wasn’t *supposed* to be. She and Jane had been partnered for that project, but Jane was constantly blowing her off so she could hang out with Tom.

So, all the pain and anger and frustration she had been repressing finally expressed itself in the form of a petty fight about all the work Jane was not doing on the project; about her being useless and selfish.

Daria *knew* it was petty. That the fight was just a cover for all that she couldn’t say; *wouldn’t* say. But thinking about it now: *should* have said.

She should have told Jane how hurt and heartbroken she *still* was. She should have said she felt abandoned. She should have told Jane that she was jealous of Tom. She should have told Jane so much.

But, obviously, she didn't.

Because she didn't want to seem pathetic and clingy. Jane left her. She should have just accepted that and moved on.

But she hadn't.

Couldn't.

And Daria didn't know what to do with that misery.

So, she shattered and did something stupid and foolish.

Daria sighed heavily and took a last drag, giving a scornful grunt.

She killed herself, but not the pain. And the pain was without a doubt still going strong. She *still* loved Jane and missed her so much that she was sure that she could actually die -- again -- from the longing.

Daria threw her cigarette to the ground, frustrated, and contemplated another one, but looked at her watch. Her ten minutes were up. So, she decided she might as well obey Mordy this time.

She sighed and went back inside to continue her work, or punishment -- whichever. Honestly, it didn't really matter what she called it, it would still be an Eternity as a pizza maker.

* * *

  
At five, Daria's shift ended, the one thing she was always grateful for. Even if it only gave a few moments of relief. Leaving one Hell for another wasn't really something to celebrate, but she appreciated it nonetheless. She exited the resturant and started for her apartment. 

The town was pretty small; a few shops selling broken or almost broken crap, some clothes shops with outdated clothing, a few fast food places, a grocery store. There was also a medium cluster of apartments in the middle of the town and an unhealthy -- if health still mattered -- amount of bars. Where most of the townsfolk spent a large amount of their Eternity.

Daria had thought it was odd at how many bars made up this town, but realized after just a few days that you *needed* to be drunk to get through each day. She quickly and easily fell into that habit.

Drinking didn't make anything feel better, but it helped numb the misery of missing Life or realizing *this* was now Life; with all the drunks, miserable bastards, relentless heat, and dead *everything*.

She reached her apartment building and walked up three floors to her apartment. She unlocked thee door and entered.

Erik was sitting in his recliner and watching TV. Daria looked at it, but had no idea what the show was. It was in black and white, and didn't sound like it was in English.

Everything in this place was outdated or foreign: music, books, radio, TV -- *everything*.

"Hey," Daria said to Erik.

"Hmm," Erik grunted, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Daria didn't mind the minimal communication. It was how they lived. And was prefered. They only talked to each other when dealing with bills, rent, and whose turn it was to go shopping. Or to fight when one was pissed off at the other for doing something wrong. Daria was usually the one getting yelled at.

Daria entered her room and closed the door beind her. She removed her uniform and slipped on a pair of dark denim shorts and a lavender tank top -- her new style of clothes for this Life.

She still had her old clothes, hanging in the back of her closet, preserved. She hadn't worn them since the day she fully remembered her reason for her Arrival. Also for practical reasons -- it was too hot to be in a heavy jacket constantly. And because they just didn't feel right. Her old clothes belonged to her Living Life; not here. Although, she kept the boots, because most of the shoes here sucked.

Daria picked up the book she had been reading -- The Sheltering Sky -- and lay on her bed.

She really tried to focus on the book, lose herself in it, but found it difficult. After a half an hour, she knew it was useless to keep trying. She closed the book and lay it on her bedside table, giving into her suffocating misery. She knew thinking about Life earlier would bring on this mood, but it didn't stop her mind from wandering there often.

God, how she *missed* it. And she *hated* that it took a new Hell to appreciate the one she left.

Daria absently rubbed at the scars on her left arm.

She had felt suicidal here, too. Often. But was afraid of what would happen if she did it here. She didn't think she'd be lucky enough to fade into oblivion.

What if there was another place after this one? What if that world was *worse*?

Also, Daria knew that she *deserved* to be here. She deserved all this suffering. She deserved *everything*.

Daria sat up suddenly, feeling trapped and restless. She needed to get out of her head for a bit. She got up and grabbed a light jacket and her wallet. She exited her room.

Erik was still watching TV. Something in color, but in italian.

"Hey, Erik, I'm going out; need anything?" Daria asked.

"No. Just remember rule: Don't bring anyone home," he said, his eyes never leaving the TV screen.

Daria rolled her eyes. "I never do," she said monotonously and exited the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Daria walked the few blocks to the closest bar, *Stiff Drinks*.

  
Like everyone in town, she used alcohol to escape. She would have been ashamed if it mattered; if she cared.

  
In the last two months, Daria had changed. In the beginning she would have said 'for the worse', but now...it was irrelevant since no one here knew her when she was alive to compare. Also, everyone was too busy drowning in their own desolation to care about what she did anyway. Everyone was just trying to find ways to pass Eternity; morality wasn't even on the radar.

  
Sometimes, she was surprised at how she turned out being here; smoking and drinking heavily, and having sex. Often. And it was that last one that really threw her.

  
She knew that eventually she would have had sex with Jane, but figured it wouldn't be for a long while. She also thought it would *only* ever be Jane.

  
Obviously, not.

  
And it was *only girls* that Daria went home with. Because when she made an attempt to *try* a guy, she found that she had *absolutely* no interest. So, it solidified that she was *completely gay* and not just interested in *only* Jane. She just wanted it to be only Jane.

  
She also learned that sex was a great way to waste time and forget where she was if she didn't want a hangover the next day.

  
Daria entered the bar.

  
It was in it's usual state of dingy and falling apart; mismatched and nearly broken chairs and tables where spread around, and it was cloaked in cigarette smoke and despair.  
It had five pool tables in the back to the left of the entrance and a jukebox at the end of the room near the bar that was blaring something that sounded *like* alternative rock. The singer had a warbling voice, and was *probably* singing in English -- the music overpowered the voice. Probably to hide the fact that the singer wasn't really good.

  
*God, this music makes Mystik Spiral sound like a heavenly choir*, she thought amused, looking around, curiously.

  
Tonight wasn't too busy. Just a few patrons drinking slowly at the bar, others already passed out in chairs at the tables. The pool tables were already taken by drunkards that could barely stand, but weren't ready to spend the night passed out.

  
Daria hoped to quickly reach the point of oblivion alcohol offered, but if she couldn't, she'd try to get in on a game of pool. Although, she really hoped a girl would catch her eye and take her home. She worked the next day and didn't really want to make pizzas while hungover.

  
Daria made her way towards the bar and sat on a stool. She saw that Joe was bartending tonight, which made her a little less unhappy. Daria liked him; he made the Afterlife interesting. Or at least bearable.

  
He was with another customer, so Daria simply watched him as she waited for him.

  
Joe was decent looking. He had dark, short hair. His eyes were hazel and his skin was lightly tanned. He *looked* to be in his forties. From what he told her, he had been in his forties for a long time. And he would be for Eternity. When Daria had asked Joe for an exact number, he just said, tiredly, that had he been alive he would have been dead for many, many years now.

  
It left a bitterness in Daria that she would *forever* look seventeen.

  
Joe finished with his customer and finally noticed her. He gave her a small smile and grabbed her usual beer as he walked over to her. He opened the bottle and handed it to her.

  
"Hey there, *little girl*," he teased good-naturedly.

  
Daria took the drink, rolling her eyes at the endearment. "Hey, *old* man."

  
He just grinned at her.

  
Daria sipped her beer and grimaced slightly. It was just as horrible as she knew it would be, but after a couple of these, this place wouldn’t be so bad.

  
“Just get off work?” Joe asked.

  
“No. A while ago. I just didn’t want to spend an evening with Erik,” Daria said, looking around at the bar. "Or alone in my head."

  
Joe nodded understandingly, and then noticed a guy come up at the other end of the bar and signal him. "Give me a sec," he said, leaving to serve the guy.

  
Daria just waved him off, knowing he wasn't purposely abandoning her. It was his job, and she knew he'd be back anyway.

  
She took a drink from her bottle and looked around the room for a *mind-numbing* distraction. Her eyes landed on a couple of girls sitting close together at a table near the back.

  
One was cute with sharp features, pale, blue eyes, wavy-blonde hair, thin and lanky, and had potential. The other was brunette, with green eyes and a little more tanned than her friend, but seemed mostly moody and unapproachable. Although, that didn't put Daria off too much. She had gone to bed with plenty of moody and unapproachable girls. That seemed to be the default for most of the girls here anyway.

  
The cute girl met Daria's eyes, and then turned to her partner, saying something only the other girl could hear and pointed at Daria. The moody girl looked at Daria, scrutinizing her intensely.

  
Daria turned away from them, feeling self-conscious, and focused on the TV on the wall above the shelves of alcohol. It was muted and playing a show in black-and-white. It looked like some sitcom, but nothing Daria recognized -- as usual.

  
Daria finished her beer as Joe was coming back to her, thankfully bringing her another one. She took it appreciatively.

  
"You ever wonder what happened to these people to bring them here," Daria mused aloud.

  
Joe looked around. "You mean here or *here*?"

  
Daria rolled her eyes. "I know why they're here. You know what I mean."

  
Joe leaned on his elbows in front of Daria. "This gonna be one of *those* nights?"

  
"When is it not," She scoffed, taking a long drink from her bottle.

  
Joe shrugged. "Why does it matter? They are here. That's it. End of story. Literally."

  
"That's depressing," Daria muttered.

  
"It's supposed to be," Joe said simply. "Nobody *happily* kills themself."

  
"True," Daria said, knowing that he was right. But it doesn't stop her from wondering what pushed these people over that ledge. Why hadn't there been something that stopped them? That made them think 'maybe just one more day'.

  
Which leads her down her usual path, wondering what could have saved her from this Hell. What would have made her stop and think 'maybe just one more day'?

  
Would it have been someone being home that night? A conversation with Jane? Taking the time to calm down? Or was this Fate? That nothing was meant to stop her and she was always meant to be here.

  
*God, that was depressing*, she thought and took a long drink of her beer this time, almost finishing it in one go.

  
“Hey,” Joe said, looking at her concerned, “You okay?”

  
“No,” Daria said tersely, and shot back, irritated, “Are you?”

  
Daria’s mood didn’t faze Joe. He simply shrugged indifferently. “I deal. I’ve been here a *long* time. I've accepted it,” he said. “Also, I got nothing to worry about,” he said easily.

  
“Why is that?” Daria asked curiously.

  
Joe tapped his head, which had a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. “Can’t remember what was wrong anymore,” he stated, slightly amused.

  
Daria nodded and secretly couldn’t wait for her *many* years to pass. Maybe she’d be the same. Living in that weird peace.

  
“What are you thinking about?” Joe asked gently.

  
“Stuff; my life,” Daria answered.

  
“Here or back then?” Joe asked.

  
“Back then,” Daria said.

  
“Shouldn’t do that; it'll drive you crazy,” Joe cautioned.

  
“No shit,” Daria smirked and finished her beer.

  
Joe grabbed her another bottle, opened it and gave it to her.

  
Daria was finally starting to feel a bit of a buzz; she was drinking too fast, which was perfectly fine since it was getting her where she wanted to be. She hoped number three would get her to oblivion. She was thankful that she was a lightweight. It saved her from remaining sober too long.

  
“So. You thinking about that girl again,” Joe stated because it wasn't a question anymore.

  
“A bit,” Daria admitted with a shrug. “And a bit about what could have stopped me; you know saved me?”

  
“Yeah. I don’t care much about that anymore, just because…well, I’m here,” Joe shrugged. "No point."

  
"Yeah, well, I haven't reached your point of Zen, yet," she remarked, sipping at her beer, taking this one a little slower. Sometimes conversations were worth being conscious for with Joe. Because he was interesting, and because he was the only one who actually wanted to talk to her.

  
Daria looked at him contemplatively. “Hey, Joe?”

  
“Yeah, little one,” he smiled.

  
Daria allowed it. “Do you ever wonder what your funeral looked like?”

  
“No. ‘Cause *I know*,” Joe said with absolute certainty.

  
“Oh?” Daria questioned intrigued.

  
“I told you; my parents died when I was ten and then I was put into the system,” Joe said.

  
“Yeah. You didn't elaborate much. What happened?” Daria asked.

  
“Well, I wasn’t lucky enough to find a family or a home,” Joe said. “I had no friends at the end, so I’m sure no one missed me."

  
“Sorry about that,” Daria said sincerely.

  
“I’m not. It’s why I took my life, and now here, well, I have friends,” Joe said gesturing at the patrons. “So what about you? What do you think your funeral looked like?”

  
Daria took a moment before she answered. “Family mostly. Maybe Jane, her brother, maybe a couple more people; I told you that I was a loner.”

  
“Yep, you did,” Joe said. “But I bet they miss you terribly,” he said kindly.

  
Daria scoffed lightly, “I doubt that. I mean, I’m sure they were sad and sorry, but I think my mom and dad would be glad that I’d no longer be around causing them trouble. And then my sister, she’d probably just be happy that she no longer has to work at keeping me a secret anymore,” she said somewhat bitterly and took a drink of her beer.

  
“What about Jane? Wouldn’t she miss you?” Joe asked.

  
Daria shrugged. “Six months ago, I would’ve said yes without a doubt, but…well, you know she’s the reason I died."

  
“Yeah, but you loved each other,” Joe pointed out.

  
“I thought so; she was dating a guy when I left,” Daria said, a little miserably.

  
“Yeah, you told me, but I still have faith in love,” Joe said with conviction.

  
Daria gave him a sardonic expression. “That’s why you leave with a different girl every night?”

  
Joe laughed lightly. “Yeah, but I love you and you won’t go home with me, so…,” he said seriously, but gave her a hopeful look.

  
“Watch it, Joe, I’m not that drunk,” Daria said mock sternly, and then looked at the two girls again. Feeling drunk enough to take a chance on them. “Besides, I’ve got my eye on someone -- or two -- already."

  
“Those two?" Joe questioned, pointing at them. "They're straight. They pick up a guy every night.”

  
"Maybe I'll get lucky," Daria said, but doubted it now that she learned that they were straight.

  
“Well, come home with me and--,” Joe started suggestively, but Daria cut him off with a sharp look.

  
“Don’t even finish that sentence if you value your afterlife,” she warned, and gave him a small, brief smile to show that she was half joking. Or maybe fully. It would be stupid to kill the only person that she truly liked.

  
“Oh, I do,” Joe said putting his hands up in defense. “If we can die, I don't want to know what's after this," he said with a shudder. "It can't be anything good."

  
“I actually had that same thought earlier,” Daria said, and took a drink of her now warmed beer.

  
“Hey, maybe you might get lucky,” Joe said suddenly, nodding at something behind Daria.

  
Daria looked at him curiously and was surprised when one of the girls -- the blonde one -- sat down next to her.

  
She smiled at Daria.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again no italics. FF dot net for those

The girl's smile was disarming and Daria thought that maybe she actually had a chance with her. It brought her mood up considerably.

  
“Hi, my name’s Tania," the girl said brightly, extending her hand to Daria enthusiastically.

  
Dara took the girl's hand, shaking it, studying her curiously. She hadn't met anyone here as bubbly as this girl. If truthful, Daria found it more frightening than refreshing.  
"Uh, Hi. Daria," Daria responded awkwardly.

  
Tania gave her a pleased smile that made her look really pretty.

  
She then openly stared at Daria; Tania's her eyes roaming over her intently, as if searching for something. Daria hoped it was Tania considering taking her home.

  
When it seemed that Tania's analyzing was complete, she said, "So, my friend Rachel and I, we play this game where we try to figure out how people offed themselves." She then gave Daria an overly sweet smile and looked at her pointedly.

  
Daria's mood darkened quickly. "Of course," she muttered, taking a drink from her beer, feeling disappointed and stupid for hoping this girl would be interested in her when she knew the girl was straight. She was never that lucky.

  
"So, how'd ya do it?" Tania asked bluntly and perversely entertained.

  
Daria ignored her, not in the mood for her morbid game.

  
"Oh, come on. It's fun," Tania urged playfully. "Pretty please?"

  
Daria gave her a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?"

  
“Oh, yeah,” Tania said devilishly.

  
Daria glared at her but it didn't deter Tania. She simply smiled expectantly.

  
Daria then sighed exasperatedly, figuring that Tania wasn't going to leave her alone until she answered.

  
Daria rolled her eyes and then grudgingly rolled up the sleeves of her jacket to reveal the scars on her wrist.

  
Tania grinned smugly. “Three points for me!” she called over to her friend proudly. Rachel only rolled her eyes.

  
“You know that’s an extremely rude question,” Daria remarked reproachfully, pulling her sleeves back down.

  
Tania shrugged, her bubbly demeanor muting. “Precisely. That’s what the game’s all about,” she stated flippantly.

  
“I see. Well, what about you, then?” Daria countered roughly.

  
“Gas. Reason? To get back at people,” she explained uncaringly.

  
Tania’s sharp indifference regarding her suicide was a little surprising to Daria. She only nodded and sipped her beer.

  
After a brief moment of silence between the two, “So, you wanna sit with us or something?” Tania offered. “Maybe play?”

  
Daria chuckled. “It’s a bit sick -- your game --  don’t you think?”

  
Tania shrugged. “What else you gonna do?”

  
Daria thought about it momentarily before deciding, “Sure, why not?” She gestured at Joe to bring her another beer. Joe did so, his eyebrow raised in question as he looked between her and Tania. Daria only shrugged, took the beer, and followed Tania over to her table.

  
Rachel looked at Daria curiously. “Hi,” she said blandly.

  
“Hi,” Daria said sitting next to Rachel's left.

  
Tania took the seat to the right of Rachel and looked around the room. After a moment of searching, Tania focused on a big, hairy, mean-looking biker guy sitting in the far corner of the room. He was drinking straight from a whiskey bottle, alone, and looking as if that was how he preferred it.

  
Tania grinned delightedly and pointed at the biker. “Him.”

  
Daria and Rachel looked at him intently.

  
“Drug overdose,” Rachel stated confidently.

  
Tania examined him closely. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so. I say gas,” she said certainly.

  
“You always think that,” Rachel complained, rolling her eyes. “Just because you did it…,” she groused.

  
Daria ignored them and continued to scrutinize the man.

  
The man must have felt their stares because he looked directly at them, sending them a deadly glare.

  
Daria politely looked away but noticed that Tania and Rachel didn't. Apparently, they left their shame behind in Life.

  
"What do you think?" Rachel questioned Daria.

  
"Um, I guess...I'd say drowning. He is kinda blue and swollen,” Daria answered, glancing back at the biker. He was focused on his whiskey bottle but Daria could tell that he wasn't happy with their attention.

  
Rachel and Tania, if possible, looked at him more intently.

  
“Maybe,” Rachel reluctantly agreed.

  
“No. I’m telling you, look at his face, that kind of blue -- it’s gotta be gas,” Tania insisted.

  
"I doubt it. The faint bloating and that he also looks a tiny bit water-logged -- he drowned," Daria said positively.

  
“Oh, yeah? Go over and ask him, then,” Rachel challenged Daria, smirking.

  
That was kind of the last thing that Daria wanted to do. "Yeah, no, I'm good."

  
"We need an answer," Tania reasoned.

  
"Then you go ask," Daria remarked.

  
"I asked you. Rachel asked our first round. Your turn," Tania pressed.

  
Daria hesitated, really not wanting to interact with the guy. Especially with how surly he looked. But she was sure the two would harass her until she did and Daria was hoping for a somewhat relaxing night.

  
She took a determined swig of her beer. "Screw it, why not." Daria stood up but before she could take a step towards the biker he looked at her with a fierce expression, causing her to falter. “Um, on second thought...I don’t know about this one, he seems ill-humored."

  
“No, you gotta go,” Rachel cried insistently.

  
“Why don’t you try it with me?” asked a heavy Russian-accented male voice from behind them.

  
The three girls turned to look at him. Tania and Rachel held expressions of contempt for the man. Daria was indifferent.

  
The man grabbed his chair and joined them at their table, uncaring that he was uninvited and unwanted.

  
He was a small, scruffy-looking man; short and somewhat boney, and seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had porkchop sideburns and a thick mustache and was faintly hairy; all hair on his body was light brown and his eyes were a pale blue.

  
He looked at them eagerly.

  
“Do you know this guy?” Rachel asked Daria disdainfully.

  
Daria sipped her beer. “Nope,” she said casually but inspected the guy curiously.

  
“I’ll bet you girls won’t guess,” the guy challenged smugly.

  
Rachel and Tania rolled their eyes and ignored him, glancing around the room pointedly.

  
"I bet they won't," Daria stated, smirking.

  
“Oh! Tania, look who’s here!” Rachel said suddenly, pointing to a guy that just entered the bar.

  
Tania did and she lit up. “Ooh!” she said excitedly and looked at Daria. “We’ll be right back,” she promised quickly. She grabbed Rachel's arm and practically dragged her towards the guy.

  
Daria watched them go, disappointed. She knew she wouldn't get anywhere with either of them but at least she hadn't been alone.

  
“I’ll tell you something, whenever a chick says ‘I’ll be right back’, write’em off,” the Russian guy said seriously. “They always end up leaving with some retarded big-Joe guy,” he said somewhat moodily and took out a bag of tobacco and rolling papers and started rolling himself a cigarette.

  
Daria took what he said into consideration and then nodded because he wasn't wrong. She busied herself with drinking her beer and continued her studying of the guy.

  
After a long silence, Daria finally asked, because, again, why not, "So, what was it?”

  
He looked up from his focus on rolling his cigarette with a confused frown. “What was what?” he asked.

  
“How did you, you know…off yourself?” Daria asked, now feeling slightly guilty and intrusive.

  
"Oh, that," he said simply and then grinned proudly. “I poured my beer on my electric guitar at my last gig,” the guy said. “Fried my ass,” he said amused and took a drink of his beer casually.

  
Daria looked at him astonished. “You offed with a guitar?”

  
The Russian man still held a grin. “Sure I did. On stage,” he said pleased. “Man, it was wild. Iggy Pop almost came to see that gig."

  
“Hm,” Daria grunted, unsure of what to think or say. She looked over at the girls...and they were leaving with the guy.

  
They caught Daria's eye and waved at her. Daria returned a small wave.

  
“See?” the guy said and then introduced himself as "Eugene."

  
“Daria,” she said.

  
Eugene nodded, “So, you going home alone, Daria?” he asked in a careless tone.

  
“I’m gay,” Daria stated.

  
He shrugged. “Eh, thought I’d try but, yeah, I should have figured since you’ve been eyeing those girls since you got here,” Eugene said indifferently and lit his freshly rolled cigarette. “You want? I make you one,” he offered.

  
“Er, no thanks. I have my own -- I like them with filters,” Daria said.

  
Eugene shrugged. “So how you end up here?”

  
“ _Here_? Or Here?” Daria asked.

  
Eugene smirked at her. “I know why you here,” he said gesturing to the bar. “I mean, what bring you to this wonderful world?” he said sarcastically.

  
“Thought I could use a vacation,” Daria deadpanned with a roll of her eyes.

  
Eugene laughed. “You a funny one,” he said. “Really?”

  
Daria sighed wearily. “I killed myself over a girl; Jane,” she said, feeling a little embarrassed.

  
Eugene nodded. “Why?” he asked, his tone curious with no hint of judgment.

  
“She dumped me claiming the need for freedom and then went on to get involved with a guy,” Daria said with annoyance. She wasn’t sure if it was directed at Eugene for asking or the situation.

  
“Yeah, well, girls are crazy,” Eugene said somewhat sympathetically. “You don’t seem so crazy, though,” he said, scrutinizing her.

  
“Oh, I believe I am. I mean, I’m here right,” Daria said.

  
“Being here don’t mean you crazy,” Eugene said seriously. “You had one bad day, or days, and found solution."

  
“Some solution,” Daria scoffed.

  
“Yeah, well, we all think of Heaven and peace,” Eugene said and then smirked, “We just get screwed; great cosmic joke.”

  
“Oh yeah, I was laughing my ass off when I came here,” Daria said dryly.

  
Eugene laughed. “We’re screwed but just like back in Life, we deal. We just deal better here,” he said taking a drink of his beer, becoming thoughtful. “Funny, huh?”

  
Daria finished her beer and looked at him. “Yeah. _Hysterical_."

  
* * *

  
Daria spent the rest of the night drinking and smoking with Eugene. She found that she liked his company enough.

 

  
* * *

  
Daria leaned on the counter in the pizzeria, lethargically watching the clock; a few minutes left until her shift ended. She had taken a deep, sighing breath and smelled something burnt.

  
“Oh, crap!” she exclaimed and rushed to the oven. She quickly removed the pizza from the oven, grateful that it hadn’t burned completely. She placed it on the stand on the counter. She started slicing it but she had placed the stand too close to the edge of the table and it slipped off. 

  
“Dammit!” Daria swore, picking up the pizza quickly.

  
She glanced around furtively -- no one had noticed. She put it back on the stand, fixed it, boxed it, and served it to a waiting customer standing outside. Because being in the building on another scorching day wasn't desirable.

  
At five, Daria walked out of the pizza place and started her walk home.

  
After a block, there was a loud honk from behind her. She turned, surprised; it was Eugene.

  
He drove up to her. “Hey,” he greeted.

  
“Hey,” Daria said curiously. “What’s going on?”

  
“I come to get you. We go drink, play pool,” Eugene said firmly.

  
“Um, I’m kind of tired, actually,” Daria said, unsure if she should spend another night drinking. The hangover today had been hell.

  
“Come on, I buy,” Eugene coaxed.

  
The offer was very enticing; free alcohol was always welcomed.

  
She considered the worth of having her hangover last another day, but found the threat of prolonging the hangover wasn't really a good enough reason not to drink. Hell was hell here --  sober, drunk, or hungover.

  
"Yeah. Fine," she finally agreed, getting into his car. It was better than being alone or spending an evening watching German TV with Erik. Besides, those two reasons would drive her to a bar anyway. At least going now, willingly, she would have free alcohol and company.

 

  
* * *

  
They entered Stiff Drinks, grabbed a couple of beers and found an empty pool table near the back. Eugene racked up the balls.

  
“So, you know anyone here from Life?” Eugene asked taking the first shot.

  
Daria looked at him slightly confused. “No. I died alone,” she said slowly. “Why? Do you?” she asked looking for her shot, thinking his question was bizarre.

  
“Yeah -- my whole family,” Eugene said easily.

  
Daria looked at him wondering if he was screwing with her. “No way,” she said with a small laugh, taking her shot, and then looking back at him, "Really?"

  
“It’s true!” Eugene insisted. “I live with my parents and my kid brother Kostya.”

  
Daria sobered. “Wow. Really?” she said, looking at him surprised.

  
Eugene looked her in the eye. “Really,” he said seriously.

  
"I’ve never heard of a whole family being here,” Daria said astonished. “Not that I’ve been here long, or talked to anyone, mind you."

  
Eugene shrugged. “Well, a little while after we came to America, mom offed because she was missing Russia so much. My father, just didn’t feel like going on without her, but what really did it for him was my little brother turning out to be gay; Dad hung himself,” Eugene said, taking his shot and took out his rolled cigarettes. “Then me; and my brother followed a few months later.”

  
Daria nodded. “Why did you?” she asked.

  
Eugene shrugged. “Needed vacation,” he said and then smiled.

  
Daria rolled her eyes, amused. “What about Kostya?”

  
“I guess he had it in his genes,” Eugene said nonchalantly with a shrug, lighting up a cigarette.

  
Daria took a drink of her beer and looked at Eugene. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard."

  
Eugene nodded. “When Kostya came here, my father, a man who wouldn’t cry if you dropped ten-pound sledgehammer on his foot, hugged kid and cried like baby, no shit,” he said taking a swig of his beer.

  
Daria nodded, unsure of what to say, looking for her next shot.

  
“Yeah,” Eugene said, and then looked at Daria. “Hey, you come meet them!” he said suddenly.

  
Daria looked at him startled. “No! I couldn’t,” she declined quickly.

  
“Why not? Come on. We have dinner, it’ll be fun,” Eugene said enthusiastically.

  
Daria wasn't sure how much fun a dinner could be with an entire family that offed themselves.

  
"Come on. We have good alcohol and food. It be worth it," Eugene pleaded.

  
Daria considered the offer for a long moment before giving in and saying, "Okay, fine. But I'm coming to meet your family, not for the alcohol. I don't like that I'm turning into an alcoholic hanging out with you."

  
Eugene shrugged and grinned. "You say that like is bad thing."

  
"For normal-ish people, it is, Eugene," Daria said slightly amused.

  
"So, you come, then?" Eugene asked eagerly.

  
Daria nodded. "I said I would. But I don't want to be bombarded with questions like...I don't know, whatever weird things your family thinks is conversation worthy." She then quickly added, with narrowed eyes, "And you better tell your mother I’m not your girlfriend. I don’t want to be asked when we’re getting married or something like that."

  
“I know. I just tell her you big dyke,” Eugene shrugged and finished off his beer.

  
Daria scowled at him. “Gee, thanks," she said dryly.

  
Eugene gave her a smug smile. “I see you at seven tomorrow, then?”

  
“Yeah, Yeah,” Daria sighed resignedly. "Get me another beer, huh?"

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

After a few minutes brisk walk, Daria reached Eugene's block.

  
He and his family lived in an apartment a few blocks from her which she was glad for since she didn't have a car and didn't really want to bother Eugene to pick her up.

  
Daria walked up to the apartment building. It was a four-storied, beige building that was in a state of heavy disrepair -- a lot of the buildings in this world were. This building's façade was crumbled and missing entire sections of wall and many of the windows were boarded up or just flat-out missing. If it were a part of Life it would have been condemned. However, in this world? It was nearly flawless. Her own building was missing the top two floors, many front doors, walls, and stairs. Thick blankets covered doorways, tarp replaced walls, and ladders had been placed where stairs had once stood.

  
The apartments here weren't ideal but it was better than nothing -- sort of.

  
Daria entered the building and walked up to Eugene's apartment on the third floor. She still wished she had refused him with more effort. This was just...weird. Mostly because it felt too normal. And nothing in this place should ever feel 'normal'.

  
When Daria reached the front door she knocked and waited. After a few moments -- where Daria felt like she still had time to run -- a heavyset woman with short, curly graying black hair, dressed in a pale purplish-gray floral housedress with an apron tied over it opened the door. Daria could only guess that this was Eugene's mother.

  
The woman beamed and cried happily, "Daria!" in a heavy Russian accent. She swiftly pulled Daria into a tight, encompassing hug.

  
Daria was startled by the immediate affection.

  
"Um, H-hi," she stammered awkwardly, returning the hug hesitantly.

  
When the older woman let her go she ushered Daria in. "Come in, come in."

  
Daria did so, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the attention.

  
"I'm Elena. It nice to finally meet friend of Eugene's," she said pronouncing Eugene's name as U-gen-ye. She led Daria into the kitchen. "He never bring anyone over," she said, her tone faintly reproachful. She walked over to the stove and looked into a large metal steaming pot. She picked up a metal ladle and stirred the contents of the pot.

  
"Oh," was all Daria could think to say.

  
"You have good timing; dinner is nearly done," Elena said with a smile. "Eugene is in living room with his brother and father," she explained, pointing to a room to the left.  
"Thanks," Daria said quickly and swiftly walked into the living room.

  
The living room was a small room with a couple twin beds set up along the wall across from the room's entrance, a small TV set stood against the wall to her left in the middle, and a brown and yellow threadbare tweed couch was across from the TV.

  
The couch was currently occupied by Eugene, his father -- a man who seemed to be in his mid-fifties with a pouchy middle and balding -- and his brother -- blond, lanky, and in his early twenties with a boyish face.

  
The three were watching a soccer game being announced in German.

  
Eugene noticed her and grinned. “Hey, Daria,” he said, standing. He gestured to the men sitting on the couch. “This is my father Ivan. And brother Kostya."

  
Ivan stood up and walked over to Daria. He kissed her left and then her right cheek.

  
“Hello, dear,” he greeted kindly.

  
“Hi,” Daria said, still feeling awkward with this easy affection.

  
“Hey,” Kostya said with a small wave, still seated.

  
“Okay, come on. Dinner is ready!” Elena called to them from the kitchen.

  
The four walked into the dining room.

  
Kostya carried out the large pot and set it down in the middle of the round dining room table and Eugene brought out, in one hand, a large bowl of rolls with a plate of butter placed on top of the bread, and in the other, a large pitcher of unidentifiable red liquid. Daria and Ivan set up bowls and utensils.

  
After everything was placed on the table, they sat down to eat a meal of beef and cabbage stew. Daria was in between Elena and Kostya with Ivan and Eugene across from her.  
Daria silently ate her stew and stale roll, just listening as the family talked about their day. She was relieved that they didn't feel the need to include her in the conversation. At least not yet.

  
Kostya complained about his day at the clothing store that he worked in. Only a few people came in; some just browsed the racks, others that tried on the clothes left him huge piles to put away without buying a thing. Ivan and Elena didn't work; both stayed at home and just did small chores around the apartment to keep it livable and homey. Eugene worked at a donut shop -- the Lonely Donut -- and his day sounded as dull as Daria’s did down at the pizzeria.

  
When they finished dinner Ivan brought out a plate of sweetbreads for dessert and what he called his best vodka. Daria wondered where it came from because any alcohol here would never be classified as 'best' in any way. More like 'passable' -- barely.

  
Ivan passed out the bread and large shot glasses filled to the brim with the vodka.

  
Daria took a nibble of the sweetbread and sip of the vodka and found that the sweetbreads were not as stale as the rolls and the vodka was actually decent. Much better than what she usually drank at the bars.

  
"So, Daria, how you come to meet our Eugene?” Ivan asked interestedly.

  
"Oh, um...at a bar," Daria answered hesitantly, not liking that the attention was finally being turned on her. She had been perfectly fine with being ignored.

  
Ivan nodded simply as if expecting that answer. He didn't seem bothered by it at all.

  
“How old are you? You look so young?” Elena remarked concerned.

  
“Oh, uh, Seventeen,” Daria said stiltedly, grabbing her drink and consuming it in one go.

  
Kostya knowingly poured her another large glassful, giving her an apologetic smile.

  
“Oh, my! So very young,” Elena said surprised and gave her a sorrowful smile.

  
“Wow, you’re going a bit young there, eh, Eugene,” Kostya teased amused, waggling his eyebrows.

  
“Oh no, she not into guys,” Eugene said dismissingly, on his third drink now and tearing his bread into small pieces to eat. “She like girls."

  
Daria glared at him, embarrassed.

  
“Oh, no worry; it don’t bother us,” Elena assured. “Our Kostya like boys and we still love him,” she said smiling lovingly at her youngest son.

  
Kostya grinned and raised his glass to her.

  
Daria nodded and again downed her drink in one go. 

  
“So, are you Russian, too? 'Daria' sounds Russian,” Elena asked.

  
“Oh, no, I’m American,” Daria corrected. “So, um, I’m surprised that a whole family is here together,” she said, wanting the attention off her.

  
“Yes, it is rare but I think it Fate,” Elena said seriously. “We belong together. I mean, we together in Russia, we together in America, and well, now here,” she said, looking at her family proud and wistful.

  
“Our boys just couldn’t make it without us, and I’m sorry that we weren’t there for them,” Ivan added solemnly and then said with a faint, adoring smile, “But it come out okay.”

  
Daria could only nod thinking that it was weird to consider being together here as ‘okay’.

  
Not needing to be prompted, Kostya poured her another drink. Eugene was on his fifth and barely paying attention now.

  
“So, where you lived in America?” Ivan asked, placing his elbows on the table and twining his fingers under his chin, looking at her intently.

  
“Connecticut,” Daria said, finishing her third drink, feeling light-headed now. She pushed her glass away from her, deciding that she had had enough.

  
“Did you still live with your family before you come here?” Ivan asked.

  
“Yeah; my mom, dad, and sister,” Daria replied.

  
“Oh, that’s nice. What were they like?” Elena asked genuinely interested.

  
“Well, my mom worked a lot; dad was…there. My sister and I were all right, I guess,” Daria said with a shrug, not wanting to elaborate any more than that because it was an uncomfortable topic for her. However, she was a little unsettled to find that it actually hurt to mention them.

  
Elena seemed to sense Daria’s uncomfortableness and didn’t press the subject.

  
Ivan nodded sagely. “Well, not all families are lucky like us.” He raised his glass with a prideful smile.

  
All save for Daria shared a toast.

  
To Daria, it felt insane to be toasting to Ivan’s comment but she did think he was twistedly right. The three seemed happier and closer here than she and her family had been in Life. It didn't go over her head about how messed up that was.

  
“Well, it’s my turn to do the dishes and clear the table,” Kostya announced, standing up and starting to collect the dishes.

  
“Uh, I’ll help you,” Daria offered, needing a distraction.

  
“Yeah, sure,” Kostya said easily.

  
Daria put away the leftover food as Kostya gathered up the dishes while Elena, Ivan, and Eugene went into the living room to watch TV.

  
Daria joined Kostya at the sink and took up drying the dishes he washed.

  
They worked together in a peaceful silence. 

  
“You know, I’d have been here a long time ago if not for Eugene,” Kostya stated suddenly.

  
Daria looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

  
“Well, when I was about ten, I played soccer. My team was the best, but in the finals, another team won. I was really upset, so I decided that I wanted to kill myself because if life was gonna be unfair like that then what was the point in living?" Kostya started, “At the time, I lived with only Eugene." He sighed lightly. "So, Eugene comes into the dining room and I'm standing there on the kitchen table, noose 'round my neck, tied to the ceiling fan. I then demanded that he tell me the meaning of life and a good reason to live when everything seemed so unfair."

  
“What did Eugene say?” Daria asked intrigued.

  
“He told me to take the rope off my neck and step down off of the table and then he’d tell me. I told him to tell me first but he kept insisting,” Kostya said. “And he was the smartest and most trusted person I knew, so I stepped down. Then he just slapped me.”

  
Daria looked at him puzzled. “He slapped you?!”

  
“Yeah. I don’t know exactly what he was trying to tell me when he did it but it worked fine; up until a few months ago,” Kostya said, washing the last dish.

  
"Wow," Daria said simply and then asked somewhat hesitantly, “So...why’d you do it?”

  
“After Eugene did it, I had no one; and I couldn’t stand it. I felt so alone. So, I found some cyanide and ended up here," Kostya explained. "I was lucky to have found them,” he said heartfelt, going over to the table and grabbing the bottle of vodka. He searched an overhead cabinet until he found two large glasses. He filled them halfway and brought them over to Daria, handing her one.

  
“Yeah. Your family is sure full of that, huh?” Daria said lightly amused, taking the proffered drink.

  
Kostya grinned. “Seems like it." He walked towards the living room, stopping at the entrance. Daria followed him.

  
The two stood in the doorway and watched as Elena, with the help of Ivan, put Eugene to bed. He had passed out since he drank the most.

  
“So, why do you hang out with Eugene?” Kostya asked suddenly. “You seem decent and well, Eugene’s…Eugene.”

  
Daria shrugged. “He makes the Afterlife interesting."

  
Kostya nodded and sipped his vodka. “How’d you off yourself?” he asked.

  
“Slit my wrists,” Daria answered impassively still watching Elena, Ivan, and Eugene.

  
Elena was now sitting next to Eugene’s head, stroking his hair and softly singing in Russian to him. Ivan was wrapping Eugene up in a blanket, tucking the edges underneath him.

  
“Can I ask why?” Kostya asked delicately, looking between his family and Daria intently.

  
Daria took a sip of her drink but didn’t say anything.

  
“Was it because of your family?” Kostya asked tentatively.

  
Daria shook her head and cleared her throat. “No. A girl,” she stated trying to sound and feel indifferent but she was finding it a little difficult.

  
“Oh. Sorry about that,” Kostya said sincerely.

  
Daria shrugged one shoulder. “You know being here tonight, although, this dinner was a lot different than the ones with my family, it...kind of makes me miss them,” she confessed watching as Elena kissed Eugene on the forehead.

  
“Yeah, when I was alive, seeing other families made me feel that way, too,” Kostya admitted.

  
Daria nodded and finished her drink in one large gulp. “Well, I’m dead and my family’s not,” she said pointedly and slightly bitter. She turned away from the living room and walked back into the kitchen with Kostya following her.

  
She placed her glass in the sink but didn’t turn to face Kostya. She leaned on the sink with both hands, looking at her single glass in the sink, feeling an intense need to flee.  
“Hey. You know it’ll be all right?” Kostya encouraged gently.

  
Daria didn’t respond. Kostya walked over to her but was unsure of what to say or do.

  
Ivan walked into the kitchen. “You two still doing dishes?” he asked with a chuckle, looking at them curiously.

  
“Just finished,” Kostya answered as Elena entered the kitchen, announcing, “Eugene’s asleep.”

  
Daria turned to them and said with a tone of forced evenness, “Oh. Well, I should probably head out then."

  
“You know, you should stay tonight. I think you drink a lot, too,” Elena said with an anxious frown, insisting, "You sleep on Kostya's bed. He take couch."

  
Daria shook her head, flashing a small, reassuring smile. “No, I’m fine. It's fine,” she said firmly.

  
Elena looked at her doubtfully but said, "Okay." She approached Daria and hugged her. “It was good to meet you, Daria,” she said sincerely and kissed Daria’s left cheek.

  
“It was nice to meet you, too. Thanks for dinner,” Daria said feeling the need to escape intensify.

  
“Come and see us again,” Ivan said hugging Daria. “You family now,” he said earnestly with a warm smile.

  
Daria nodded. “Okay. Sure. Thanks, goodnight,” she said curtly and headed for the door.

  
Hearing the door shut behind her, Daria felt a great sense of relief overcome her. She hurriedly exited the apartment building and rushed -- nearly sprinted -- down the sidewalk towards home.

  
After she had put a fair distance between her and Eugene’s apartment, Daria stopped to catch her breath, however, found it difficult to do so. She leaned against a wall to steady herself, still trying to take deep breaths.

  
The sadness and longing she had felt since the day she arrived here but had been able to stifle were finally starting to overwhelm her. She fought harder to block the feelings out.

 

She couldn't allow herself to be consumed; she didn't think she would be able to recover.

  
Then, she just didn't have a choice anymore.

  
She collapsed to the ground, doubled over and cried out in despair.

  
Daria sobbed loudly until she had exhausted herself. She then slumped against the wall just staring off into the distance feeling drained and empty, which oddly relieved her.  
She thought of all the dinners with her family; it was usually the only time they were all together. She remembered her mother trying to talk to her but she would just ignore her, read, or leave as fast as she could. Her father didn’t try to talk to her unless it was to rant about something inane but they had been all right, and all she did with Quinn was fight.

  
Oddly, she found that she missed it all greatly.

  
She thought of all the quality time she screwed up with her family, thinking at the time it didn’t matter because she was young. She had plenty of time to make up for it in her adulthood.

  
Well, she was supposed to.

  
Daria looked at the now dark red, raised scars on her wrists. She literally cut that time short and just gave up on everything. It was just one moment in life and she had lost everything. If she had just taken the time…it was always just about time.

  
She wiped away the wetness on her face, thinking about how she hadn’t been herself since ending up in this world. She did everything she would never have done in Life: drinking, smoking, and sleeping around.

  
But this wasn't Life, and it didn't matter anymore.

  
But it shouldn't be that way, because this wasn't where she was supposed to be.

  
She was supposed to still be living at home, going to school, making fun of the stupid people with Jane. She should be preparing for her senior year and going off to college the next Fall. It was supposed to be years from now before she became an embittered adult -- not at seventeen.

  
Daria gave a short mirthless laugh and realized why she didn’t socialize here. She didn’t want to think about what she left behind. She didn't want to remember what she had lost.

  
Eugene and his family were lucky; they all gained everything when they died.

  
Daria sighed mournfully. She hadn’t realized how much she really missed her family and Jane until tonight. She had put all her energy and time into trying to forget them but that didn’t do her any good. In trying to forget them, she lost herself.

  
She knew she couldn’t continue what she was doing. She couldn’t live her life -- or Afterlife -- just spending her time in bars drinking or in other people's beds acting as if nothing was wrong.

  
However, she couldn’t spend her days missing Life and wishing for things that would never be either. If she did, she’d end up more miserable than she had been in her Life. She had to accept that she was never going to see her family or Jane ever again; because she could never go home and none of them were as stupid as her.

  
Daria took a deep, calming breath and stood up. She looked at the empty streets around her and felt the overly warm night air ghosting over her skin.

  
She didn’t want this; she hated it, but this was her life now. She needed to find something meaningful in this world or else she would find herself condemned to an Eternity of misery and suffering; even if she knew she earned it. She needed something more than cigarettes, alcohol, and warm bodies.

  
Daria sighed wearily and started walking again, heading for her apartment -- home.

  
As she walked, she noticed that for the first time since arriving in this world she was feeling something other than indifference and anger.

  
She didn’t exactly like it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again 'italics' are in the version that is at ff dot net under the penname: Therevampire or title of story.


	6. Chapter 6

Daria exited the pizzeria feeling incredibly relieved that it was the end of her shift. Every day was the same; never taxing but she just didn't want to be there any longer than she needed to be.

  
She started for her apartment, contemplating her options for the night. And then frowned when she realized that she didn't have many, although, if honest, _any_.

  
Daria stopped at the first crosswalk, waiting for the red light to turn green. She sighed heavily, resigning herself to another night of watching foreign TV with Erik.

  
After a couple minutes the light turned green and she continued walking, a little more slowly now, wishing that she could figure out _something_ to do that was mind-numbing but _not_ destructive.

  
It had been a couple of weeks since the dinner at Eugene's place; a night she had been trying to forget.

  
That night had been eye-opening and Daria decided that things definitely needed to change. So, she stopped drinking, smoking, and sleeping around. She also decided to stop hanging around with Eugene because he was a terrible influence that didn't understand the word "no". Or at least decided that the word just didn't need to be a part of his vocabulary.

  
Daria then spent the next two weeks dodging his constant and insistent calls requesting that she go out drinking with him and ducking behind buildings to avoid him when she saw him driving around town.

  
The _mature_ thing to have done would have been to have actually told Eugene she was ditching him, but maturity had never been her strong point -- _obviously_.

  
However, even though Daria was avoiding Eugene and wishing he would take the hint, deep down she had been slightly pleased with his persistence. It felt nice to be pursued when she was sure that he would have moved on from her after her first rejection. And as much as she wanted him to leave her alone she feared when he would.

  
Daria kept her gaze downward, focused on the sidewalk as she walked, wishing that she could 'accidentally' walk into traffic; a reoccurring thought recently. However, that plan was problematic because there were never enough cars driving around or there were never enough cars driving around fast enough to do more than bruise. Although, if she were honest, Daria was pretty sure she would chicken out once she saw the curb.

  
These days, Daria couldn't really figure out what she was _after_ - _living_ for. Basically, here she had the same life she had back in Life, more or less. She spent her time focused on work and when she was at home, she usually read or watched TV with Erik or just slept. The only things worthwhile in this world had been getting drunk and ending up in someone else’s bed.

  
Daria was startled intensely when a hand grasped her shoulder firmly, stopping her.  
“What the hell!” she cried sharply, turning to glare at the owner of the offending hand.

  
It was Eugene; he didn’t seem too bothered by her glare.

  
“Hey, how come you no go with me drinking anymore?” Eugene asked petulantly.

  
“Dammit, Eugene, don’t sneak up on me!” she deflected, annoyed.

  
Eugene grinned. “I did no sneaking. I call to you, you ignore me.”

  
“Then, shouldn’t you have taken the hint,” Daria said snidely and started walking again. Eugene followed, keeping pace with her.

  
“So? How come?” Eugene pressed.

  
Daria shrugged, walking a little faster. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel like it,” she explained uncomfortably.

  
"How can you not feel like it? It's fun," he argued, sounding a little winded.

  
Daria didn't answer and kept walking. After a block of him trying to keep up with her in silence, she realized that he would actually follow her home. She sighed heavily and decided to do him a kindness and stopped.

  
Eugene gave her a grateful smile, working on catching his breath. He took out one of his hand-rolled cigarettes, placed it between his lips and lit it. He held one out to her. Daria shook her head, refusing it.

  
He shrugged like it was her loss and then demanded, “Well?”

  
“ _Well_ , what?” Daria snapped irritated, knowing exactly what he meant and wished she could avoid the subject altogether.

  
Eugene gave her a disbelieving look, “Well, what? she says,” he mocked and then looked at her sternly. “What happen? After you come home and meet my family you get weird,” he accused.

  
Daria only shrugged, making Eugene glare at her.

  
“Aye, you a difficult woman,” he groused. “And what’s with the getup,” he questioned, gesturing at her and looking her over with distaste.

  
Daria was slightly insulted by the comment. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing, and why should that matter?” she said sharply.

  
She had gone back to dressing as she had when she was alive: black pleated skirt, burnt-orange shirt, and dark green jacket. The outfit made her feel like herself again, and she realized that she missed that a lot. As ridiculous a notion it was, it made her feel a little better.

  
“It’s hotter than hell and you all covered up,” Eugene said appalled.

  
Daria rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she stated and started walking again.

  
“Come on. What’s your problem?” Eugene whined, following her.

  
She considered ignoring him and just continuing home so she could hide from him, but if honest...she did miss him. "Fine...I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking, okay?” she answered irked.

  
“About?” Eugene prompted somewhat impatiently.

  
“Life,” Daria sighed, “I was just thinking about the ‘me’ before and the ‘me’ now.”

  
“I don't get? You need to explain,” Eugene said.

 

Daria stopped and glared at him for needing to make this a conversation. He only smiled.

  
She sighed resignedly, “I was just thinking about how I’m not like ‘me’ from Life anymore; I want to be that way again,” Daria said honestly.

  
Eugene shook his head. “You not alive anymore, though. Everyone different when they get here. Because you _are_ different."

  
“Yeah, well, then I’m tired of following the crowd,” Daria said somberly.

  
Eugene scrutinized her and then grinned. “Ah, you thinking about family and girl,” he said shrewdly.

  
“...Well, mostly girl,” Daria admitted embarrassedly.

  
“Cecilia?” Eugene asked.

  
“Jane,” Daria corrected.

  
“Come on, you have to get over her,” Eugene said seriously. “She’s an ex-girlfriend in an ex-life.”

  
“Doesn’t stop me from thinking about her,” Daria argued.

  
Eugene rolled his eyes. “Come on, I give you ride home; you change and then we go out and drink, find you a good-looking girl…,” he said enthusiastically, grasping Daria’s elbow and leading her back to his car.

  
Daria withdrew from his hold. “No, Eugene,” she said firmly, “I’m done with all that. I can’t do it anymore,” she said wearily.

  
Eugene stopped and looked at her, somewhat confused, “What? Why?”

  
Daria glared at him, irritated. “Getting drunk, picking up good-looking girls...it's depressing.”

  
“Then you not doing it right,” Eugene joked.

  
Daria groaned. “It just doesn’t feel right, okay?"

  
“Fine. Okay. I see point, but everything here pointless and depressing,” Eugene said earnestly. “But what you gonna do? _Kill_ _yourself_?” he said with a small smirk.

  
Daria turned from him, angrily, and started walking away. “I don’t know, sounds like an idea,” she said acidly.

  
“Come on, Daria,” Eugene groaned exasperatedly.

  
“I’ll talk to you later, Eugene,” Daria called over her shoulder, not stopping.

  
* * *

  
Erik was busy in the kitchen preparing himself a meal when Daria entered the apartment. She didn't bother asking what he was making. None of it would be for her and she and Erik didn't do small talk.

  
She went into her bedroom, removed her boots, and threw herself on her bed, trying to get comfortable. However, she was too riled up to relax.

  
Daria was annoyed at Eugene for trying to poke holes in her resolve. She had a hard enough time trying to convince _herself_ that it was right not falling into the bad habits that this world encouraged. Although, even without Eugene’s help, she nearly lost those arguments anyway.

  
She still couldn’t quite see what the point was of being good and decent in this world. All being good did for her was make her more bored then she had ever been in either life.  
Daria had finished all the books that Erik owned and TV just wasn’t that interesting no matter how bored she was. In addition, by being sober and alone, she was plagued by thoughts of her living life, which wasn't exactly a good thing since it was mostly Jane she thought about. And in thinking of Jane, her thoughts were mostly focused on wondering how Jane could have loved her one moment then easily move on to some random idiot. Daria then realized that she was bitterly angry about that, even if she tried to reason it with it being Jane's decision and she should have just accepted that. It wasn't an easy feat trying to adopt that delusion. However, even though she was angry, she could still remember the good times she had had with Jane.

  
Jane had been the only person she had any good memories with, or at least memories worth remembering. She missed talking with Jane and just being in her presence. They had been really close before they started dating. Jane was her first friend -- her only friend. So, it should have been obvious that their break-up was going to end up in tragedy. Especially, when Jane started dating Tom.

  
Daria closed her eyes in shame, touching the scars on her right wrist.  
At the time it felt right. She was miserable. She was alone. She was overwhelmed and she just wanted it all to _stop_.

  
But now that she had done it and was here, just as miserable as she had been in Life, she wondered what would have happened if she had just spoken to Jane; swallowed her pride and told Jane that she was hurting and miserable and lost without her.

  
Daria frowned. Would Jane have even cared? Would Jane have comforted her? Would she have ditched Tom?

  
What if Jane didn't care? What if Daria being gone was a _relief_?

  
Daria sighed heavily. In the end, it didn't matter. Daria didn't do anything and she put herself here. She was moving on whether she wanted to or not.

  
“This sucks,” Daria grumbled, and then was startled when Erik barged into her room, making the door slam against the wall. He stopped at the foot of her bed and just glared at her angrily.

 

Daria glared back. “Yes?”

  
“Did you finish my cottage cheese?” Erik demanded sharply.

  
Daria sat up and looked at him incredulously, “Are you kidding me?”

  
“ _Did you finish my cottage cheese_?” Erik repeated, emphasizing each word.

  
“Who else?” Daria snapped, rolling her eyes. “Calm down, Erik. I’ll buy you some more next time I go shopping,” she mollified and lay back down.

  
“No. That’s not the point!” Erik said irritated, his voice rising, “I was planning on having some _right_ _now_."

  
“Then go get some and I’ll reimburse you,” Daria suggested, frustrated.

  
"Dammit, Daria, you do this all the time!” Erik shouted and threw the empty container at her. The container missed her and hit the side of the bed, landing on the floor.

  
Daria sat up, flinching away from the splattering cottage cheese. “Oh my God! All right! I’ll go get your damn cottage cheese!” she yelled.

  
Erik took a deep, calming breath. He simply nodded and walked back into the living room.

  
“Psychotic baboon,” Daria muttered moodily but truthfully used to his tantrums since he wasn't wrong, she _did_ take his food often. And one would think that she would know better by now. Obviously, not.

  
Daria grudgingly put on her boots and headed out of her room. Erik was sitting in front of his TV, focused on it.

  
“That cottage cheese container better be picked up and the mess cleaned up before I get back,” Daria warned sternly, glaring at him.

  
“All right,” Erik grumbled but didn’t move.

  
Daria rolled her eyes and left the apartment.

  
* * *

  
Daria walked briskly to the small convenience store that was a block from the apartment, grumbling to herself about how annoying Erik was with his insane need for cottage cheese.

  
She entered the small store and quickly headed to the back where the refrigerators were. She grabbed a container of cottage cheese and made her way to the front of the store where the cashier was, sitting behind a counter. His face was shielded by an out-of-date magazine. He didn't bother looking at her.

  
Daria understood the feeling. She barely paid him any attention either as she put the container on the counter and searched through her pockets for change and cash, hoping she brought enough.

  
“Two-thirty-five,” he said dully before coughing harshly.

  
Daria froze. That _cough_.... And voice.

  
She looked up at him quickly, staring more intently than the barely glance she gave him before.

  
He was wearing a deep blue t-shirt and pale khaki shorts, nothing familiar, and his face was completely hidden by the magazine. However, Daria easily recognized the tribal tattoos on his arms. And it made her heart stop.

  
“Trent?” Daria spoke softly, tentatively.

  
The man -- Trent put his magazine down immediately and looked at her astonished. “ _Daria_?”

  
“Yeah,” she answered bewildered. “Wha-what…how?” she stammered, unable to figure out what she was trying to say.

  
Trent hurriedly climbed over the counter, knocking the cottage cheese to the floor, and embraced her tightly.

  
“I’m so glad to see you,” he said sincerely, earnestly, just holding her.

  
Daria held onto him just as tightly, dumbfounded. She was unsure of how she was feeling at finding a familiar face in _this_ place. 

  
After a moment, Trent pulled back from her and looked her over keenly with concern. "Are you okay?”

  
Daria finally regained her senses and rushed, disconcerted, "Yeah. No. I mean...why does that matter!?" before finishing, heartbrokenly, "Oh my, God, _why_ _are you here, Trent_?"

  
Trent shrugged. "It just...felt like the right thing to do, you know?"

  
Daria shook her head. "What do you mean?"

  
"Did Janey really expect me to stick around when she didn't?" Trent scoffed, his voice rough and faintly bitter.

  
Daria gave him a confused expression. "What are you talking about?"

  
Trent returned the confused look. "Isn't...isn't Jane here with you?” he asked slowly.

  
Daria shook her head. "No! Why would she be?" she asked, absolutely lost.

  
Trent sighed wearily. "Daria, she...killed herself a month after you did; a couple weeks later...I hung myself," he explained, gesturing to his neck and the dark bruise around it.

  
Daria gasped lightly, feeling her heart shatter. "Oh, God, Trent," she said sadly before what he said finally sank it. "Wait. So, Jane is _here_?!" 

  
Trent shrugged, looking defeated. "I mean...I assume, yeah, if you and I are." He looked away from her teary-eyed. "But...I'm not so sure now," he admitted. "I thought she would have found you by now. I was hoping at seeing you that she was with you."

  
Daria shook her head. "No. I had no idea that Jane -- why did she?"

  
Trent gave her a pointed look and simply said, "You mean a lot to her."

  
Daria understood but didn't know how to respond to that, unsure if she should be happy that Jane had _finally_ chosen her or devastated that she did. Either way, it just tore her apart to know that her _decision_ was the reason the only two people that she cared about were here.

  
"But why _you_ , Trent?" she asked sorrowfully.

  
"It just didn't feel right...being without her," he said, wiping at tears that suddenly fell. He cleared his throat roughly. "Anyway, I guess I just got to keep looking."

  
"Right. When did you get here? To this town, I mean," Daria asked.

  
"A couple days ago. Been walking nearly nonstop since I came to this world five weeks ago, looking for Jane," he explained and then added, wearily, "But it's hell out there and I am so tired."

  
Daria nodded. “I bet.”

  
Trent rubbed his face. “Man, seeing you...I was _really_ hoping that Jane would be here,” Trent sighed disappointedly.

  
"I'm sorry," she consoled gently but then added vehemently, "But it just means that Jane has to still be out there somewhere. And we can't leave her out there."

  
"No, we can't," Trent agreed but then sagged against the counter. "I just...can't right now. I didn't travel well or smart. I can't continue for a while -- I'm burnt."

  
"Then I'll go," Daria decided resolutely.

  
Trent shook his head. "No. Not alone. It was rough on me. You probably won't do much better."

  
"I have a friend. He has a car and lots of free time. I'm sure I can convince him to take me," Daria explained quickly.

  
Trent looked at her, hopeful. "Think he'll take you, like, really?"

  
"I'll find a way to make him if I have to," Daria said, smiling faintly.

  
Trent sighed, looking relieved. "I hope so. And I hope you can find her. It's so... _big_ out there."

  
"I will. I have to," Daria said firmly. "And I'll bring her back here. I promise."

  
"Okay. Then I will wait here," Trent said.

  
Daria nodded and then threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around him firmly. “I wish it weren’t this way, but I’m so glad to see you,” she said into his shoulder, barely containing her tears.

  
Trent wrapped his arms around her, all-encompassing. “Same here,” he said softly,   
"You don't blame me?" Daria asked as she stepped back from him.

  
"No," Trent answered honestly. "Janey explained as much as she could, and theorized about why you... _left_. I got it. I'm mostly just sorry for you; for both of you."  
"I'm still sorry," Daria said remorsefully.

  
"I know. It doesn't matter now, though," Trent reassured. "Just find her. I'm sure having you two around would make this place a little more bearable."

  
"Oh, it will. Unless super depressed drunk people are your thing," Daria said, amused.

  
Trent shook his head, his nose scrunched in distaste. "You two will be enough."

  
"Okay. Well, I should get going looking for Jane," Daria said, bending down to pick up the cottage cheese container.

  
Trent looked at her surprised. "Right now?"

  
"Yeah. I've got nothing better to do and my friend doesn't do much, leaving now isn't a problem," Daria said pulling out a couple dollars and some change and placed them on the counter. "Just gotta drop this off for my crazy roommate," she said waving the container.  
Trent nodded. "Good luck, Daria."

  
She nodded, giving Trent a small smile and headed for the exit. Just before she passed the threshold Trent called her name. Daria stopped and turned to look at him curiously.

  
"Hey, Daria. No hard feelings if you come back alone, okay. It's enough that I found you," he said sincerely.

  
"I'm bringing her back, Trent," she promised determinedly, turning and walking out the door.

  
Once outside she ran all the way back to her apartment, for the first time in months, feeling _happy_.

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, Mordy talks that way.)
> 
> I’d appreciate it if someone who has read the original or remembers it and decided to read this version, would leave a comment and let me know if this version is better, worse, or at least all right. Although, all comments are welcome anyway. Also, con-crit is much more appreciated than just flat-out flames. Thank you.


End file.
